


Pocket Sized

by 1004_Angel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura and Coran, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Childhood Friends, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Japanese Keith (Voltron), M/M, My Little Lover AU, Pocket Lance, Slow Burn, You'll see what I mean, but not so much, she/her pronouns for pidge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-06 12:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10334738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1004_Angel/pseuds/1004_Angel
Summary: “Keith! I’m down here!”“Lance? Lance, where are you!?”“Over here!!”Keith does his best to follow the sound of the tiny voice, so jarringly opposite from Lance’s usual loud and obnoxious tone. He scans the tiny outcropping of rock, looking for his (ex) childhood friend’s ugly mug.“Down here!”Down? Keith glances down, and just about trips on a rock.A tiny Lance, no taller than an inch and wearing nothing but a leaf around his hips, is jumping up and down and waving his arm frantically to get Keith’s attention. Keith blinks once, and blinks again.“Wha…? Lance!?”or,Lance shrinks, and now his ex-childhood friend Keith has to figure out how to turn him back to normal. My Little Lover AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea rolling around in my head but I'm so glad I finally got around to writing it. I hope to update pretty regularly, but if you know me well then... anyway, I'll do my best! Please enjoy.
> 
> Find me on tumblr as the-noble-idiot and scream at me about klance.

Lance winces, leaning back in his seat and letting out a screech of a yawn as he stretches. He blinks tired eyes and stares at the drool stain on the homework he was supposed have finished last night. “Musta fallen asleep,” he mutters. A glance out the window of his bedroom exposes the bright morning sunlight to his retinas, and Lance hisses through his teeth.

Lance’s attention is drawn to the sound of a door opening and closing outside his window. He scoots his chair backward and peers outside just in time to see his neighbor, Keith, exit his house, kendo stick in hand. It was about that time of the morning, Lance figures, when Keith would go outside for a morning workout and kendo form practice.

Lance’s expression twists into a sad grimace. He and Keith don’t talk much. Not as much as they used to, anyway. Once upon a time, the two boys were glued to the hip, and wherever you saw one, the other would not be far behind. But something had happened when they entered high school; Keith became suddenly distant, and no matter what Lance tried to do, Keith never responded, and their friendship flickered out of existence.

“Lance, come down for breakfast!”

Lance pushes back from the window and slams the laptop shut. He needs to stop thinking about Keith, and what happened to their friendship. It’s Keith’s fault anyway, for just abandoning him like that. Keith doesn’t _deserve_ Lance’s friendship.

At least, that’s what Lance tells himself.

“Good morning!” Lance says, bounding into the kitchen. His mother looks up from the stove, and Lance can smell his mama’s special omelets. His sister is sitting at the table, legs swinging as she gnaws on buttered toast. Lance’s father sits across from her, reading the paper and nursing his morning coffee.

“Lance you’re going to be late again!”

“No I won’t, mama, you should know this by now.”

“It’s already seven thirty, and your ‘morning routine’ takes almost twenty minutes!”

“And it’s only a ten minute walk to school, I’m fine!”

“Lance was up late again watching YouTube videos,” his sister Chloe tattles.

“It was _soccer,_ thank you very much,” Lance chastises, and steals Chloe’s bacon. “I’ll smack you with a soccer ball if you sneak into my room again.”

“No slapping your sister,” mutters Lance’s father from behind his paper.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur, as it usually does. Lance is through his morning routine and out the door with his mother clucking at his heels. Lance waves his sister to the bus stop and steps onto the pavement just in time to see the back of Keith’s head disappear around the corner. Lance tries not to stare.

“Keith, wait!”

Lance turns as Keith’s older brother, Shiro, bolts out the door, coat half off his shoulder and a swinging lunch box in hand. Shiro is a retired army medic, even at the young age of twenty-six, honorably discharged but missing an arm. Now he works as a professor at a local community college. Lance doesn’t know what he teaches.

Shiro sighs when he see’s Keith is already gone, but grins widely when he notices Lance. “Hey, Lance! Mind giving this to Keith for me? He forgot his lunch again.”

Lance eyes him. Shiro has been trying to mend his and Keith’s friendship since they began drifting apart, and Lance could guess that Shiro had purposefully neglected to give Keith his lunch in the hope of running into Lance.

Lance raises an eyebrow but takes the lunch anyway. “Anything for you, dude!”

“Thanks so much Lance!” Shiro smiles, and rushes back into the house.

Well, that was convenient, Lance thinks, but breaks into a jog to catch up with Keith.

Only, it seems that Keith had realized he didn’t have his lunch. As Lance turns the corner, Keith suddenly appears from the other side of it, and Lance can see the look of surprise on his face before they collide sharply. Lance’s face explodes in pain as his chin connects with Keith’s forehead, and both boys stumble back, clutching respective body parts and glaring at each other.

“Ow, watch where you’re going!”

“You ran into me, watch where _you’re_ going!”

“Uh, no, this is definitely your fault.”

_“My_ fault!?”

And here they go. They had always bickered as kids, but it had gotten worse as of late. Lance attributed it to jealousy, though he would never admit it out loud. Keith was a smart kid, easily one of the top students in school, and co-captain of the kendo club, even if he rarely went to meetings. He was even better in martial arts than Lance was. Lance had always been two steps behind Keith in everything they did together, and tended to release frustration in the form of bickering.

Lance knows that this fight is pointless. They’re going to be late for school at this rate so Lance decides to take the higher ground.

He shoves Keith’s lunch against the other boy’s chest. “Here. Shiro wanted me to give this to you.” And with that, Lance leaves. He can sense Keith watching him as he strides away, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, but he doesn’t turn around.

* * *

 “Lance…! Earth to Lance!”

Lance lets out a shriek and almost falls out of his chair. Pidge looks unamused as she leans against his desk, hand still raised in a waving motion. Hunk stands behind her, trying not to laugh at Lance’s almost – and likely painful – tumble from his chair. Lance glares at his friends with as much fake annoyance as he can.

“What do you want?”

“You were spacing out,” Pidge says.

“Was not.”

“Were too.”

“Hunk, back me up.”

“You totally were.”

“Some friends you are.”

They laugh. Keith walks in thirty seconds before the start of class, as usual, and takes his seat in the back corner, as usual. Lance tries not to pay attention to him as he passes his desk, but Pidge is a perceptive little shit, and notices Lance’s apparently not-so-subtle eye flick.

“You and Keith still not talking?”

“We haven’t talked in two years, Pidge.”

“I can tell you want to, though.”

“Conversation is a two-way street, kiddo.”

Hunk looks between Lance and Keith. “I don’t know how you guys became friends in the first place. You both are so… different. I mean he’s probably gonna be the first emo valedictorian and then you…”

“Excuse you, I’m in line to be salutatorian, thank you very much.”

“I was gonna say flamboyant captain of the soccer team but yeah, that works…?”

“What Hunk is trying to say is that you two are like oil and water and we can’t believe you actually managed to stay friends for as long as you did,” Pidge clarifies.

Lance finally gives in to the pressure and twists in his seat to stare at Keith. The other boy has his earbuds in and is nodding his head gently to whatever song is playing as he stares out the window into the schoolyard. “Yeah,” Lance sighs. “Me too.”

At that moment, the teacher walks in, shoos Pidge out of her classroom, and the day begins. Ms. Allura starts by introducing a new girl to the class, Nyma. Lance’s attention is immediately drawn to her nice body, platinum blonde hair pulled back into a high ponytail with ringlets loose to frame her pretty face. He lets out a wolf whistle for giggles, and Hunk kicks him from under the table. Nyma giggles though, even as Ms. Allura rolls her eyes, used to Lance’s antics.

Nyma takes a seat near Keith, which for some reason makes Lance’s blood boil before he remembers that he and Keith don’t have anything to do with each other anymore, and lets it slide, opting to pay attention to the start of Ms. Allura’s lectures. Lance and Keith only have two classes together, which makes Lance’s day a little easier, but it’s not until after all the classes are over and he can go to soccer practice that he is finally free of Keith’s everlasting presence on campus.

He changes into his uniform and lets all the pent up emotion loose on the field until his legs are shaking under him and he can barely stand. As captain he has to set examples, especially for the new kids, and therefore cannot let himself slack off. Doesn’t help that the running gives him amazing calves he can use to impress the ladies. Hunk, who is on the team with him, only rolls his eyes.

Coach Coran blows the whistle and calls for a break, and Lance stumbles to the benches to pop open his water bottle and dump it over his head. The other players do the same, and soon twenty boys are soaking wet.

“Alright boys,” says Coach Coran. He twirls his mustache as he speaks, and some of the younger players snicker. “I have an announcement! The Voltron Lions soccer team is having open tryouts this Friday. All you need are your cleats and a positive attitude. Those interested can take a flyer…” He hands a stack of leaflets to the person sitting closest to him, and the flyers begin to be passed around “… and let me know you plan to go so I can give your teachers an excused absence slip! You also need a signed permission form from your parents. The tryouts will last for several days so be prepared to handle your schoolwork on top of everything else!”

Lance takes a flyer and feels his mouth drop. The Voltron Lions is his favorite team; he’d been following them ever since they won the World Cup when he was six. It was his dream to one day join their ranks, and now he was finally getting the chance to do it. He could practically feel his entire body shake with the anticipation.

“Lance will totally make it in,” says Hunk, and slaps Lance’s shoulder for emphasis. “You’re the best player out of all of us. I’d go but it’s all the way in the city, there’s no way my parents would let me…”

“It’ll take some convincing,” Lance murmurs. “But the ‘rents are chill, I bet they’ll let me go…!”

The team cheers.

Lance changes back into his day clothes after practice, stuffing his sweaty uniform into his sports bag. Hunk has already gone home with Shay as he does on every Friday, leave Lance to walk home by himself. He hums Shakira to himself as he walks, letting his body sway with the rise and fall of the beat as he goes. He rounds a corner, and his groove is thrown off ( _hah)_ by the sight of Nyma cornering Keith against the wall of the gym, playing with her hair which in Girl Language is a bright neon sign saying _I’m flirting with you._

Lance has to walk past them to get home. He tries to make himself inconspicuous, but that is kind of difficult when there is no one else in sight, and Keith himself seems to be looking everywhere _but_ Nyma. Which includes Lance walking by.

Lance and Keith make eye contact, the first time since they had quite literally run into each other that morning. Nyma follows Keith’s gaze and looks Lance up and down with an almost mischievous grin. Lance isn’t sure what about this picture is giving him such a feeling of anger in his gut. He tells himself it’s because the new hot transfer student is flirting with his rival.

“You can do better, Nyma,” Lance calls to her, glaring at Keith. “Dude’s dumber than a doornail and wouldn’t know if you were flirting with him if you took your shirt off.”

Keith glares back. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Mullet!?”

“Boys,” Nyma says, looking thrilled that boys appear to be fighting over her.

“Believe me, Nyma,” Lance says, always to have the final word. “You think you’ll be together forever and just like that –” he snaps his fingers. “—he leaves you hanging.”

Lance leaves before Keith can respond.

Lance has somehow relaxed by the time he gets home, and waits until his parents get home before breaking out the flyer.

“You’re not going.”

Lance can’t believe what he’s hearing. He stares at his parents sitting opposite him, stern looks on their faces. The flyer for the Voltron Lions lays flat on the table, slightly crinkled from its adventure in Lance’s backpack. He hadn’t hesitated to bring up the tryouts, his excitement barely containable, only to have his father tell him, quite bluntly, no.

“But dad,” Lance began. “Are you not even going to listen to me!? These are the _Lions!_ My favorite team! If I don’t go to this tryout then who knows how long it’ll take before they hold more!?”

“You’re a high school senior, Lance,” says his mother. “You have to start thinking about college.”

“Besides, you’re too young to go into the city on your own!” Lance’s father shouts over Lance’s whined protests. “You need to start thinking about academics and stop dreaming about going pro.”

Lance feels his fists curling in his lap. “What if I don’t want to go to college?”

His parents exchange looks.

“What are you saying, Lance?”

“I don’t want to go to college.” Lance repeats himself. “I know what I want, and college is just a waste of time and money. I want to play soccer.”

“You’re going to regret saying that, Lance,” says his father. “You’re in a good program in Altea Academy, you’d be throwing all of that away!”

“That’s right,” his mother agrees.

Lance looks back and forth between his parents, completely floored. He’d had confidence that his parents would jump at the opportunity for their son to have shot at professional soccer, but now he is lost for words. Did they not have enough faith in his ability? He was the _captain_ for god’s sake!

“I can’t believe you’re ganging up on me!” Lance throws his hands on the table with a smack, the chair screeching across the floor as he stands sharply. “Have you never had dreams that you wanted to come true? Did your parents every disagree with you on something that you really wanted!?”

“Lance!”

Lance has had enough. He wordlessly turns on his heel and runs from the room, unable to look his parents in the eye. He can hear his mother yelling after him as he takes long strides toward the front door. He passes Chloe on the way, looking up at her older brother with big brown eyes and an empathetic expression. Lance rubs the top of her head before leaving, and makes a point to slam the door shut as he goes.

It’s raining outside, but Lance is too stubborn to go back inside and get an umbrella. He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and tucks his hands into his armpits to keep them warm as he walks with no destination in mind but to just get away. The rain stings his face, but Lance lets it disguise the tears that he finally lets slide down his cheeks.

Lance walks, soaks through to the skin, for who knows how long, scuffing his shoes across the sidewalk as he dribbles a rock between his feet. He finally looks up to get a guage on his location, and spots a bus stop. He can see the hunched form of some other sap who got caught in the downpour. He ducks under the awning and takes his hood down to wring it out.

That's when he notices the other person under the awning is none other than Keith, staring wordlessly up at Lance like he couldn't believe Lance would intrude on his personal bus stop.

"Enjoying the view?" Lance asks, a small bite to his tone.

Keith's eyes flicker. "What's there to see?"

"Nothing, apparently."

Keith breathes out through his nose and stands. "At least you know that much." He makes as if too leave, but words are leaving Lance's mouth before his brain can catch up.

“Keith.”

Keith stops at the sound of his name. He takes a deep breath and turns his body to face Lance halfway, a wordless sign that he’s only half paying attention. “What do you want.”

Lance's brain is still lagging behind. “Why do you always ignore me? When we fight it’s always me who has to goad you on.”

“I don’t ignore you.”

“Yes, you do!” Lance says, angrily this time. “You ignore everybody, Keith. The first time I’ve seen you talk to anyone was Nyma today! Have you been with her this whole time? Are you going out? A little quick for her first day don’t you think?”

“That has nothing to do with you,” Keith growls.

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Lance says. “But I want it to! I miss being friends with you, Keith. I miss looking for Bigfoot in my parents’ garden even though I knew he didn’t exist. And then you just drifted away and no matter what I did you never talked to me anymore! I mean _nothing_ to you now, like all of that never happened.” His voice is almost pleading. "We used to be best friends."

Keith doesn’t move nor change the expression on his face. He crosses his arms. “Just stop following me everywhere,” Keith says, his tone sharp.

“When have I followed you!?”

“Let me think,” Keith says sarcastically, and counts on his fingers. “This morning with my lunch, and then earlier with Nyma. And now…”

“I didn’t plan any of this,” Lance defends.

“I don’t care,” Keith snaps.

“I’m only out here because I got in a fight with my parents,” Lance says. “They’re mad at me for not wanting to go to college. “

“And why’s that?”

“Like you care.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Keith admits, his eyebrows drawn tight together in frustration. “You’re such a spoiled brat for even having the opportunity to go to college.”

Lance reels at that. Keith knows that Lance knows that Keith’s family was poor enough as it was, even when their parents were still around. Now, Shiro’s meager teacher’s income is barely enough to send Keith to college without a full scholarship. Lance doesn’t seem to have anything to say, so Keith keeps going.

“Why don’t you get it?” Keith snaps. “Yeah, fine, I avoid you. But it’s because I can’t stand you anymore.”

Lance steps away, swallows down the lump in his throat. He opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it. Lance turns on his heel without another word and takes off into the night, vanishing instantly in the pouring rain.

Lance doesn't know where he's going, only that he needs to get away from his parents and Keith, maybe even from the whole world. He remembers a small outcropping of rock in the park right on the edge of town, where he and Keith had played as kids. He knows for a fact Keith doesn't go there anymore, and it's decently large enough to shelter him from the rain, at least for a few hours.

He takes off for the park, not bothering to shield himself from the storm. His shoes squish uncomfortably in the mud as he passes over the park's lawn, and the outcropping finally comes into view. It's smaller than he remembered, but still large enough for him to crawl under comfortably without too much fuss. He ducks inside and makes himself as small as possible, knees pulled up tight against his chest as he shivers in his wet clothing. He listens to the sound of the storm outside, resting his cheek on the hill of his knees.

_What happened to us?_ Lance asked the universe.  _Why did Keith and I drift apart? I wish we could go back to how it used to be. To when we were little..._

Lance isn't sure how long he sleeps, but when he opens his eyes again, the world is still dark. He can't hear the sound of the storm anymore, but there's an enormous cloth weighing down on his face. Oh... he must have slipped all the way under the covers. He keeps his eyes closed to shield himself from the light that his mother would surely shine in his face to properly wake him and paws at the comforter to find the edge. He does, and pulls himself free, squinting his eyes open one at a time.

The first thing he notices is that he's not in his room. The events of the previous evening come back, and Lance remembers that he had taken shelter from the storm in the small park. The second thing that he notices is that he's butt-ass naked.

That catches Lance by surprise. He squeaks and scrambles to his feet, trips over the collar of his sweatshirt and...  _why is his sweatshirt bigger than him?_

Lance glances up, around, and down at himself. Lance opens his mouth to freak out, but can only manage guttural wails.  _And why is he one inch tall!? What the hell is going on!?_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance shrinks, the school is a beehive for conspiracy theories, and Keith just wants to go home.

Keith hates morning. Hates the unpredictability of them. Hates clunking down the stairs at 8am on a Saturday in sweats for his daily kendo practice and being interrupted by Shiro on the way down.

“Keith…”

Keith glares his best too-early-for-this expression at his older brother and is about to groan out a good morning when he sees Shiro’s expression. It’s the kind of expression he wore when he had to tell Keith that mom and dad wouldn’t be coming home. Keith immediately understands. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “Did you get fired?”

“Lance is missing,” Shiro says, and Keith’s blood runs cold. “He didn’t come home last night. The police just asked if we know anything.”

Lance’s words ring in Keith’s ears. _We used to be best friends!_ Lance had run off into the storm, and now he was missing. Keith regretted saying such harsh things to Lance; as much as he disliked Lance, he didn’t want him _dead._

“His phone is still at his house, so the police can’t track him. Keith, if you know anything…”

“I’ll call you later,” Keith interrupts and leans his kendo stick against the wall before running for the door.

It only takes him a few minutes at his top running speed to reach the bus stop from the night before. He pants heavily, turning in circles, scanning the area as if Lance would pop out from an alley and try to tease Keith for being so worried. When that didn’t work, Keith jogged in the direction Lance had run, keeping his eyes peeled for stupid teenagers.

At some point he realizes he’s near the old abandoned park that he and Lance had discovered as children. Over time, Lance would go there whenever he was sad, and only Keith knew where to find him.

It’s a long shot, Keith figures, but better than nothing.

It doesn’t take him long to reach the edge of the park. Keith stops. An initial scan of the area reveals that Lance is not there. He decides to make a few rounds anyway, and begins to walk around the perimeter.

“Lance!” Keith cups his hands around his mouth for better volume. _“Lance!”_

“ _-eith!”_

Keith stops at the faint sound of his name. He was positive it was Lance’s voice, but it was so faint he couldn’t discern from which direction it was coming from. “Lance!?”

“Keith! O-er –ere!”

Keith turns, the voice coming from behind him. But Lance is nowhere to be seen. He feels stupid, calling Lance’s name over and over again like some kind of Marco Polo game, but he continues anyway.

“Lance!”

“Keith!”

Keith rounds the small outcrop near the back of the park, and a flash of blue catches his eye. He comes around completely to find a small cave, perfect size for a brooding teenager. On the ground lie Lance’s clothes, the same bright blue sweatshirt and black shorts he had been wearing last night. In a bout of panic, Keith kneels and scoops up the sweatshirt, the cloth still damp from yesterday’s rain.

Could Lance be in trouble? Why would he take off all his clothes?

“Keith! I’m down here!”

“Lance? Lance, where are you!?”

“Over here!”

Keith does his best to follow the sound of the tiny voice, so jarringly opposite from Lance’s usual loud and obnoxious tone. He scans the tiny outcropping of rock, looking for his (ex) childhood friend’s ugly mug.

“Down here!”

Down? Keith glances down, and almost trips on a rock.

A tiny Lance, no taller than an inch and wearing nothing but a leaf wrapped around his hips, is jumping up and down and waving his arms frantically to get Keith’s attention. Keith blinks once, and blinks again.

“Wha…? _Lance!?”_

Satisfied that Keith could see him, Lance crosses his arms and taps his foot impatiently. “Took you long enough.”

Keith squats so he can be on a somewhat closer eye level with Lance. He can’t believe his eyes… he reaches out a finger as if to poke Lance, and then thinks better of it and instead pinches himself hard.

“Ow!”

“What’d you do that for?”

“Making sure this isn’t a dream…”

“Weren’t you the one who was always into cryptids and supernatural stuff?” Lance points out, one tiny eyebrow raised. He gestures to himself, “Exhibit A.”

Keith slowly lowers a hand to Lance’s level, and the shrunken boy takes the hint. He steps delicately into Keith’s palm, holding onto one of his fingers for support as Keith raises his cupped hands to his own face. “I can’t believe this.”

“Neither can I,” Lance remarks, and uses a hand to adjust his leaf. “And I really hate to be a nuisance because I know you _can’t stand me…”_ Keith winces at that. “But I haven’t eaten since yesterday and in case you haven’t seen it yet, I’m wearing a _leaf.”_

“Oh, oh right.”

Keith straightens and sets Lance on his shoulder. The tiny boy grips onto Keith’s hair for support and Keith leaves the park and makes his way into town. He stops by a small convenience store for food, as Lance whispers into his ear like some kind of demon on Keith’s shoulder.

“Are there any Mars Bars? Damn I could go for a Mars Bars right now. Oh, and can I get some Twinkies? Those would be – _hey!”_

Keith had pulled Lance from his shoulder and transferred him to his sweatshirt pocket with a growled “ _Shut up.”_

Keith pays for the snacks with the little pocket change he had when he’d run out of the house to look for Lance, and watches Lance eat barely a fourth of a single Twinkie before he can’t eat anymore.

Keith would admit that watching a one-inch-tall person eat was fascinating. Strictly speaking it wasn’t any different than how normal sized people eat, but the portions were so small…

“Quit staring at me,” Lance barks once he’s declared himself full.

“Sorry.”

‘No you’re not.”

Keith sighs and scoops Lance up, depositing him in his pocket once again and making his way back to their neighborhood.

Lance’s family is a-flurry outside, his parents speaking frantically to a police officer and a few extended family members that didn’t live too far. Chloe is sitting on a bench, swinging her legs and looking a little bored.

“Please officer, find our son,” Lance’s mother pleads.

“We’re doing our best, ma’am,” says he officer. “I can’t officially declare him missing until twenty-four hours have passed…”

“This is bad,” Keith says, observing the scene outside Lance’s house. He can feel Lance leaning slightly so he can see the commotion, and is unusually quiet. “Come on, we have to let them know you’re okay.”

At that, Lance starts. “What? No!”

“Why not!?”

“I don’t want them to see me like this!” Lance gestures to himself again for good measure. “I’d be sent away to be experimented on! Dissected, then maybe sent to a traveling circus freak show!”

“They’re your _parents,_ Lance,” Keith tries. “They’ll understand.”

“No…” Lance’s voice is so quiet Keith has to strain to hear it. “They’ll be in shock. We just had a big fight, Keith, and seeing me like this will only make it worse.”

“But don’t you think them not knowing you’re okay will make it even more worse?”

Lance contemplates that, and grips the hem of the pocket tighter. “Let’s leave.”

Keith still doesn’t like it, but concedes anyway. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over.”

They go back into Keith’s house next door, past Shiro who asks Keith if he had found Lance. A soft kick in Keith’s side prompts him to answer, “No. Nothing.”

Up in Keith’s room, Keith sets Lance down on his bed. Lance watches as Keith digs into the very back of his closet to find a small box full of old action figures. “This will have to do for now,” Keith says, and sets the box on his desk to rifle through old GI Joes and Captain Americas. He pulls out a pair of tiny camo pants and throws them at Lance.

Lance lets out an _oof_ as the pants hit his tiny body at a speed thrown by normal sized arm muscles. “Watch it!”

“Sorry not sorry,” Keith mutters, and slides the box under the bed in case he needs it… wow. That was a sentence he never thought he’d think.

While Lance uses a pillow as a divider to change clothes, Keith kneels on the floor and rests his arms on the mattress. “So while you’re doing that, if you’re going to hide here, we need to establish some ground rules.”

“Like what?”

“Rule number one: don’t touch any of my stuff,” Keith demands. “Rule number two: don’t let Shiro find you.”

Lance comes out from behind the pillow, dragging his leaf behind him and wearing only the camo pants. They seem to fit well enough, though Keith can tell he’s going to need something more substantial… and a shirt. Lance waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

“Also, no – !”

“Um, Keith.”

“What now?”

Lance seems to struggle with how to mention it, and eventually decides to play charades. He crosses his legs and wiggles his butt, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth.

“What… the hell??” Keith mutters. “I’m not playing charades with you Lance, what do you want?”

Lance just wiggles harder, using his hands this time to mime… _oh._ _Ooooh._

Keith averts his eyes and glances around his room, for some kind of… something for Lance to use. Eventually he spots the dead plant outside his windowsill that he never bothered to throw away. Keith stands and slides the window open so Lance can access it.

“I don’t need this plant, so you can use it as a bathroom, I guess,” Keith mumbles.

Lance looks almost horrified at the thought of using a plant, and Keith almost laughs at the scandalized look on the tiny boy’s face.

“Keith, you’re going to be late,” Shiro calls from downstairs.

“Be right down!” Keith turns to Lance once again. “I have to go to school, so just remember the first two rules and we’ll discuss more about this after I get home.”

Lance looks conflicted for a moment, and finally nods quietly. Keith starts to head downstairs when Lance says, “Keith.”

Keith turns, one hand on the doorknob. “Hm?”

Lance twists his hands together. “Thanks.”

Keith allows himself to smile a little before he goes downstairs and closes the door behind him.

 

.o0o.

 

Keith can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Lance isn’t here!”

“He’s never missed a day of school… I wonder what happened?”

“Maybe he was abducted by aliens!”

Keith shakes his head and continues fooling around on his phone. People can believe what they want to believe, but aliens is a more convincing story than shrinking to barely taller than Keith’s thumb.

Lance’s friends, Hunk and Pidge, sit with their heads worriedly together, whispering. Keith feels a little bad for them, being left out of the loop, but Keith could tell that Lance didn’t want anyone to know what had happened to him. And that included his friends. So Keith holds his tongue and remains seated.

After Ms. Allura’s class, Hunk catches her right outside of the classroom. Pidge rounds the corner from her own class and they bombard her with questions. Keith hangs back a little to listen.

“Lance hasn’t missed a day of school since kindergarten,” Hunk is saying. “And for him to suddenly skip isn’t like Lance at all.”

“Do you know anything?” Pidge asks, trying and failing to keep the fear out of her voice.

Ms. Allura sadly shakes her head. “I don't know anything,” she says. “But I’m sure Lance knows what he’s doing…”

“Ms. Allura! Ms. _Allura!”_

They all turn to see Coach Coran barreling down the hallway. He stops at their side and says breathlessly, “Is it true that Lance Sanchez ran away!?”

Keith buries his face in his hand. Coach Coran couldn’t have said it any louder, could he? All the students in the hallway hear and turn simultaneously, hungry for latest gossip. Keith slides down in his chair and tries not to be noticed.

This proves futile when he sees someone stop by his desk, and see that it’s the new girl, Nyma. She smiles at him, hands clasped behind her back innocently. “Hey, Keith.”

Keith doesn’t give her much attention; he has a bad feeling about her. But he can’t be rude, so he mutters a quiet, “Hey.”

“I was just thinking about yesterday,” Nyma is saying as she pulls up a chair to sit next to him. “With what’s his name?”

“Lance.”

Nyma grins. “Right! It’s just I heard he’s missing.”

Keith does his best to keep a neutral face. “I’ve heard that, too.”

“Do you know anything about it?”

Keith chokes and covers it up with a cough. “Wh-what would give you that idea?”

Nyma shrugs, eyes Keith with a calm air. “It seems like you guys have some kind of history.”

“That’s all it is,” Keith mutters. “History.”

“Hmm…” Nyma murmurs to herself. “Then I guess you really can’t tell what’s going on with some people,” she muses. “You think he has a sugar momma somewhere…?”

Hunk and Pidge reenter the room just in time to hear Nyma. Hunk has to physically wrap an arm around Pidge to keep her from strangling the other girl. Keith, too, feels a strange emotion bloom in his chest, and stands roughly from his desk. “Lance and I may not be friends,” he says, angrily to a surprised looking Nyma. “But he is _not_ that kind of person.”

“I didn’t mean to imply – ”

Keith doesn’t want to be there any longer. He is still not one hundred percent sure he’s conscious, and hasn’t been able to pay attention in class due to recalling every possible cryptid or conspiracy theory that could cause or explain the shrinking of a human being. It was no use. Keith begins to pack his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and running from the room. Hunk and Pidge call after him, but he ignores them.

Shiro isn’t home when Keith arrives, which he is silently thankful for. Keith barges into his room and dumps his bag on the floor. Lance is nowhere to be seen.

“Lance?” Keith asks quietly.

No response. Oh, good. Maybe this entire morning had been a dream and he had been agonizing over nothing.

“Keeeeeeeeith!!!”

Keith closes his eyes and sighs. His life is never that simple, is it? He scans the room, and finally spots Lance trapped outside on the windowsill, banging his tiny fists against the glass to get Keith’s attention. Keith rolls his eyes and goes to open the window. “I leave you for three hours and you get stuck outside?”

Lance hops back into the room and leans against the wall. “Rich, coming from the guy whose _brother_ cleans his room!”

Keith narrows his eyes in confusion. “Shiro doesn’t clean my room.”

Lance laughs out loud. It’s a cute sound when it’s so tiny. “Right, you weren’t here, dude. I had to hide in your pencil case while he was fussing around. And then I went to hide behind my _bathroom plant_ and he closed the window on me!” Lance rubbed his hands across his arms. “I don’t have a shirt, _Keith,_ and it’s cold outside!”

“Sorry, I think my shirts are a little big for you,” Keith snaps sarcastically, and then sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Anyway, we have a big problem. Everyone at school knows you’re missing. Either you’ve died or run away with someone you met online.”

Lance bursts out laughing, and actually has to wipe miniscule tears from his eyes. “Oh my god that’s _amazing.”_

“It’s _not_ amazing,” Keith snaps. “Your friends, Hunk and Pidge, are really worried about you, man. “

That sobers Lance up. “Yeah,” he says to himself. “I guess I should call them… Keith did you happen to pick up my phone at the park?”

Keith shakes his head. “According to Shiro you left it at your house.”

Lance’s eyes suddenly widen. “Oh, shit, Keith. You didn’t bring _any_ of my stuff back from the park.”

“No…?

“Dude!? What if they form a search party and find my clothes! They’re gonna think I was kidnapped and murdered and dismembered and scattered all around the city and they’ll dig up the entire place and --!”

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Keith sighs.

An hour later sees Keith back at the park, dressed as inconspicuous as he can as he stuffs Lance’s mostly dry clothes into a spare gym bag. “Why the hell am I doing this?” he asks himself with every thrust of cloth or shoe. “He owes me _big time.”_

Being inconspicuous with a gym bag full of clothes during school hours is a chore, to say the least. Luckily Keith makes it back to his house with no trouble, but Keith is not in a good mood when he returns. Lance is leaning a ruler he’d found lying around against a book when Keith opens the door, apparently in the process of measuring his newfound height.

“Hey, Keith, good news!” Lance cheers. “Turns out I’m _two_ inches tall.”

Keith groans. “Congratulations. Now can you _please_ just go home?”

Lance’s smile drops. “I thought I told you I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“But why me?” Keith’s frustration is finally emerging. “Why do you have to stay with _me!?”_

“Hey, I didn’t get to pick who found me!” Lance yells back. “I was almost eaten by a bird, and insects are _not so harmless when they’re as big as you._ Look, I’m not happy about this situation either, but it looks like we’re just stuck with each other for now.” Lance stops yelling and takes on a more pleading tone. “Can I please stay here? Until I grow back to normal? You know, for all I know this could just be a twenty-four hour thing and I’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.”

Keith weighs his options. He could just dump Lance into his parents’ hands and be done with it; not much Lance can do about that when he’s only one inch – pardon, _two_ inches – tall. That would get Lance out of his hair for good, and Keith wouldn't have to deal with him ever again. Or, Keith could let Lance stay in his room and they can figure out how to get Lance back to normal.

As much as Keith would love the first option, the second is much more intriguing. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about how such a phenomenon like Lance’s predicament could occur, and some excitement in his dull, monotonous life would be a nice change of pace. The only thing holding him back was that it was _Lance_ of all people, his estranged best friend turned… what? Enemies?

Keith finally gave in to the pleading look Lance was giving him, hands clasped under his chin and lower lip jutted out in a tiny pout. “Alright, fine,” Keith says. “You can stay here.”

The smile on Lance’s face looks good on him. _Whoa, what._

“Thank you so much! I’ll be so quiet it’s like I’m not even here!”

“Too late for that,” Keith teases, and Lance looks ecstatic that he and Keith are on a somewhat easy rapport, and maybe, possibly, toeing the line to the rekindling of their friendship.

“Hey, uhm, Keith? Do you have anything else to eat…?”

Keith groans.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance's face will not go on the side of a milk carton (yet) and Shiro might think Keith is a little crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who has kudo-ed and commented thus far. I'm thinking about trying to update on Thursdays, we'll see how far that goes before it inevitably falls apart.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

Keith is watching Lance nibble on a piece of crust, grinning and savoring it like it’s the first time he has ever tasted pizza. He’s sitting cross-legged on his desk, back reclined a little against a small stack of books, and at first glance Lance could almost be mistaken as an action figure, except for the tiny sounds of pleasure that slip through his lips as he chews, and when he sometimes wiggles to readjust himself.

“Oh my god I thought I’d never eat pizza again,” he sings.

Keith takes a bite of his own slice and goes back to his homework. “It’s not that good.”

“You know those videos where someone cooks like, the world’s smallest burger?” Lance asks through another mouthful. “I could totally eat that burger. Cause I’m the world’s smallest human!”

“You’re really taking this shrinking thing well, aren’t you.”

“Hey man, I gotta adapt. I’m sure shrinking has its benefits. Like, what if you need someone to crawl through a really small space?”

“Would you even do something like that if I asked?”

“Got me there.”

Keith glances at Lance again. “You’re _sure_ you don’t want to tell anyone else?”

Lance glares; the answer to that question should be quite obvious to someone like Keith. “I’m totally sure. There’s no way that this guy is becoming a lab experiment.”

Keith sits back in his chair and pulls his phone from his pocket. He pulls up the keypad and places the device flat on the desk next to Lance’s knee. “Call them.”

Lance lowers his crust. “No.”

“I’ll even set it to anonymous.”

Keith does so. Lance turns his face away like a stubborn child; if he can’t see it, it’s not there.

Lance wants to call his parents, he really does. He wants nothing more than to run into their arms and apologize profusely for running out on them. But he can’t exactly do that anymore. Not in his current state, anyway. He slowly turns back and looks at the phone, extends a hand as if to dial and then decides against it.

What was he supposed to tell them? _Hey mom, hey dad, sorry I didn’t come home last night, I got shrunk to two inches tall and I’m living with ex-best friend Keith so don’t worry about me!_

“Well you gotta tell your folks _something_ at least,” Keith argues, as if reading Lance’s mind. “Do you _really_ want to be put on the side of a milk carton?”

Lance lowers his head. “No….”

“I imagine you don’t.”

Lance examines his tiny hands, eyebrows turned upward in a nervous frown. “What am I going to do, Keith?”

Keith doesn’t have an answer for that, and turns back to his work.

Lance bends his fingers, makes the Vulcan gesture, curls his hands into fists and back again, all the time watching his tendons at work beneath his skin. No, he definitely can’t show himself to his parents like this. But Keith has a point; he can’t just vanish on them like this, that’s not fair. Lance wants more than anything to go home, but… he just can’t. He can’t make them suffer.

But he also can’t make them worry.

Lance gathers his resolve. “Don’t leave,” he murmurs.

Keith glances over. “What was that?”

“I’m going to call my parents,” Lance says. “But just… sit right there. I don’t wanna do it by myself.”

Keith seems to understand Lance’s hesitation to be alone. He was a social creature by habit, and when his older siblings started going away to college, getting married, and not doting on him constantly, Lance had to seek out other forms of attention and company. For a while that had been Keith, but after their… falling out, Lance had turned to soccer and relied heavily on Pidge and Hunk for their company.

Keith pulls out his phone again and sets it to anonymous. Lance leans over the screen and taps his fist against the keypad to dial. The big white numbers that glare up at him when he finishes, his home phone number (his father is old-fashioned) make Lance hesitate. One hand hovers over the green call button, and Lance instinctively turns to look up at Keith for support. His… landlord (“friend” still seems a bit too heavy of a word between them) just nods encouragingly.

Lance swallows and delicately presses the button, turning it on speakerphone for good measure. The phone dials. Lance can feel his heart crawling in his throat; he hasn’t planned this out; what is he going to say???

“Hello?” A voice answers. Chloe’s. “I’m sorry, but we are a little busy so if you can call back later…”

“It’s me,” Lance eeks out.

“Lance!?”

There’s the sound of scrambling on the other end, and Lance can imagine his parents shooting up from their chairs to crowd the phone.

“Lance? Lance, is that you!?”

“Lance honey are you okay where are you come home right now…”

His parents talk over themselves, and Lance smiles to himself. “I’m fine,” he manages over the hubbub. “I’m just…”

“Lance, where are you!?” his mother demands, and Lance feels a stab in his chest at the hurt and relief in her voice. Keith was right; Lance should have called earlier.

“I’m okay,” Lance says. “I’m just… um…”

He glances to Keith for ideas, but the other boy just shrugs. _God, if I could hit him in the face with a soccer ball._

Soccer.

The tryouts!

“I’m in the city!” Lance improvises.

“The city!?” his father shouts. “What the hell are you doing there?”

“The Voltron Lions tryouts,” Lance says, and he’s getting the hang of this. “I went to the tryouts. I just really wanted to do it and I hopped a bus…”

“ _Lance Alejandro Sanchez!”_ his father shouts, and Lance flinches at his full name, almost falling backwards from the volume.

“Just trust me,” Lance continues once his father takes a moment to breathe. “I’ll get on the team and prove that I can do this!”

Lance hopes his lie is convincing; there’s no way he could get on a pro soccer team when he’s smaller than the ball itself.

His father is still raging, but Lance isn’t sure how much more of this conversation he can carry out before the questions start getting too specific. He doesn’t have a hotel number or anything, and his lie would be revealed quicker than he needed it to. But with luck, there would be no need for the lie to be revealed at all.

“Anyway I just wanted you guys to know I’m okay and not to worry about me! I’ll be home soon! Bye!”

“ _Lance! At least give us the phone number of the ho-!”_

Click.

It takes a couple slaps on the phone screen and a well-placed stomp of the foot before the touch screen registers the pressure and hangs up. Lance sits back on his knees, hands curled into fists in his lap and head hanging low.

Lance is exhausted after only a short conversation, but he feels a weight lifted off his chest. He hadn’t realized how much of a burden it was on his chest, to have that phone call hanging over his head. Now that it was over, Lance feels less stressed; but only a little.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Keith is saying as he takes his phone back.

“That was terrible,” Lance says instead. “But thanks for making me do it.”

Keith smiles. “I know your parents appreciate it, Lance _Alejandro –_ ”

Lance glares, and Keith smirks back.

They drift into silence. At some point, Keith gets up and starts getting ready for bed. Lance observes silently, trying and failing miserably to look away. But what Keith doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Keith is reaching for the towel slung lazily over a chair when it occurs to Lance: “Um, Keith?”

“Hm?”

“Where am I supposed to shower? Also, where am I going to sleep?”

Keith blinks, like he hasn’t thought of that either. “I dunno.”

Lance crosses his arms. “I spent the night in a giant storm and I’m covered in dirt. I need a shower, _pronto._ And I don’t care where I sleep but I am _not_ cuddling on your bed.”

Keith gets a stricken look. “I wasn’t going to _suggest it!”_

“I’d probably get suffocated under your mullet.”

Keith reaches for his hair instinctively, his expression defensive. “I _said_ I wasn’t going to suggest it.”

“Then what _do_ you suggest?”

Keith thinks for a minute and then lowers his hand for Lance to step into. Lance obliges, and slips rather uncomfortably into the deep pockets of Keith’s pajama pants. The smell of fabric softener is masked by an overwhelming stench of _Keith_ and Lance has to plug his nose to keep from suffocating. His vision is colored red from the light filtering through the maroon fabric.

He grips onto the pocket for support as Keith starts walking; he can feel every brush of his leg as he moves, and Lance is going to make sure he is _never_ in a pants pocket again. Keith has apparently gone downstairs and into the kitchen, collecting something that sounds like a bowl? He says a few words to Shiro that are too muffled for Lance to hear, and then there’s a snap of a closing door, click of a lock.

Lance knows he’s never going to get over the sight of a giant hand reaching down towards him from above. No, Lance does not like it at all. Keith seems to give him some room though, and thankfully doesn’t grip Lance around the middle. Rather, he stops and waits for Lance to grab one of his fingers before lifting him out of the pocket and onto what Lance sees is the bathroom sink counter.

“You don’t even have lotion in here?”

Keith eyes him strangely as he prepares a small bowl and a kitchen rag. “Lotion?”

“Yes, lotion! It takes work to get my skin this smooth! I’m going to need at least a bottle.”

“One thing at a time, please,” Keith groans. “Anyway, this will have to do for now.” He turns the shower on and waits until the water is warm before sliding the bowl beneath the spray. “Can’t exactly have you falling down the drain.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Keith.”

Keith glares. “I can pour this out right now…”

Lance takes it back quickly.

Keith occupies himself with slicing a small corner off the bar of soap while Lance slides out of his pants and clambers into the makeshift bathtub. Lance lets out a sigh as the warm water engulfs him to the neck, and dunks his head into the water. He can feel the dirt and sweat flaking from his body, and he had never been happier to get clean. He comes up for air and smoothes his hair back so it’s out of his eyes. Lance accepts the soap offered to him and applies it delicately to his skin. “This is perfect,” he sighs happily.

“This is insane,” Keith mutters to himself.

“No more insane than taking a bath in a cereal bowl, but I’ll give you one,” Lance says. “You’re the one who has to act like it’s completely normal.”

“This is totally not normal.”

“Taking a shower isn’t normal? No wonder you smell weird. When was the last time you washed those pants?”

“Oh my _god –”_

“Keith? Who are you talking to?”

Keith chokes as Shiro’s voice comes sliding under the door. Lance freezes, and exchanges a quick look with Keith.

“N-no one,” Keith manages. “Just… talking to myself.”

“Okaaay…” Shiro says, somewhat disbelievingly, but what else could he believe? As far as he knew, he and Keith were the only people living in the house. Keith and Lance wait until Shiro’s shadow moves away before letting out respective breaths.

“My turn,” Keith says, and reaches behind his back to tug his t-shirt off.

Lance swallows and pretends to be occupied with bathing, the heat of the bath making his cheeks warm. Although, Lance isn’t sure why he’d be so self-conscious around shirtless Keith. He himself still had yet to procure a shirt his size and had been shirtless all day; apparently all of Keith’s dolls ( _“Action figures,”_ Keith insisted) had irremovable shirts. Lance knew he had a good-looking body, and wasn’t self-conscious about it. Keith wasn’t distracted by Lance state of half-undress, so why should Lance be about Keith?

 _I guess all that kendo pays off…_ Lance guiltily thinks, before snapping himself out of it. People aren’t allowed to ogle their ex-best-friend-turned-landlord.

Thankfully, the boys’ showers are quick, and they are both clean and refreshed, back in Keith’s room with Shiro none the wiser. Their next problem comes in the form of Lance’s sleeping arrangements. Keith makes do by cutting to top off of a tissue box, then stuffing it with a small dishrag wrapped in tissue. Lance watches Keith work with a small grin, dangling his legs off the edge of the desk and reclining on the palm of his hands.

Once Keith supplies a pillow and blanket made of folded handkerchief, Lance shouts in glee and throws himself onto his new bed. “Oh my gooood this is ah-mazing!” he croons, and lays flat on his stomach, arms and legs stretched as far as they can go. Lance is a tall kid (tall by magically-shrunken-people standards) and pleased to find that the tissue box bed is a perfect fit.

Lance picks his head up enough so he can thank Keith. The other boy looks slightly pleased with himself, until he remembers that he’s supposed to be annoyed at this arrangement. It makes for an interesting picture, and Lance lets out a snort.

“What?” Keith grunts.

“Your face.”

Keith rolls his eyes and sits on his bed, pulling his laptop into his lap. Lance arranges himself comfortably in his new bed, watching Keith closely. He’s engrossed in whatever he has on his screen, and isn’t paying Lance any attention. Lance can feel the exhaustion from the day’s events creeping into his bones, and he starts to drift off.

“Hey, Keith…”

“What now?”

“This is our first sleepover…”

Keith drops his eyes a little. “Yeah.”

“I think this is the first time I’ve even been in your room. We were always playing at my house.”

Keith shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You’re the only person besides Shiro who’s been in here.”

“I feel special,” Lance smiles into his pillow.

Keith grunts in acknowledgement and continues what he is doing.

Lance is two seconds from falling asleep. “Keith.”

“Go to _sleep,_ Lance.”

“Thanks.”

It catches Keith off guard, and Lance manages to hear a small “You’re welcome,” before he’s drifting off.

Lance must have fallen asleep for a bit, because when he wakes up, Keith is asleep, slouched down against his pillows with his laptop still resting on his lap, the screen dark. The light in the room is still on, and Lance can’t see a clock from his bed, but he _can_ see Keith’s face.

It looks better when he’s asleep. More relaxed, not so much of the tension that sometimes is present between his eyebrows. Lance adjusts himself a little and continues to just watch Keith sleep. "He has long eyelashes," Lance sleepily observes. Lance remembers a time when Keith was a short, kind of pudgy kid, and now he had grown into sharp features and a strong jaw, and was no longer the kid that got beat up protecting Lance from bullies in elementary school.

After their fall out, Lance had grown to accept that he and Keith would eventually go their separate ways, probably never talk to each other until they were both married at their ten-year high school reunion. Never in his wildest imaginations – and Lance had quite a wild imagination – had he seen himself sleeping in a tissue-box bed in Keith’s room. Funny, how life turns out that way.

 Lance closes his eyes again, and sleeps soundly through the rest of the night, torn between wanting to become normal again or stay just as he is, so he can hold onto this connection with Keith, if only for a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I kind of hinted at a future scene to Nalciel and she went and drew fanart for it! So if you want a little sneak at what's gonna happen, check it out!: http://nalciel.tumblr.com/post/158651313097/another-sketch-of-klance-my-little-lover-au-if


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith tests his masculinity and Lance gets a makeover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you not to trust me when I said weekly updates.

 So it turns out that Lance’s predicament is not a twenty-four hour bug. When Keith had woken up that morning to see Lance, still small and his limbs hanging off the side of his bed as he snored fairy snores, he had been admittedly torn. While Keith would give anything right now to have his room back, he still couldn’t get rid of the childlike fascination he has.

Lance had woken to Keith’s preparation for school, and is now sitting in his usual spot on Keith’s desk, his blanket wrapped around his shoulders comfortably.

“Are you _positive_ I can’t go to school with you?” Lance whines. “I may be two inches tall but I still need an education!”

Keith snorts. “And how do you expect to do that without being seen? Not like you can sit at your desk, much less hold a pencil.”

Lance gestures at Keith’s jacket. “That thing has pockets, right? I’ll just hang out there and then study your notes at home.”

Keith decides not to correct Lance’s definition of “home.” “No.”

Lance drops his jaw. “Why not?”

“Because you’re the one who is always going on about not being seen?” Keith points out.

Lance pouts.

“Maybe tomorrow.” Keith swings his backpack on his shoulder. “I’ll be back around lunch to come pick you up. Please don't break anything by then.”

Lance cocks his head. “Where are we going?”

Keith opens the door to his bedroom. “Shopping.” 

* * *

Lance only seems to have knocked over a baseball from the shelf to the floor when Keith comes to get him. When he walks in, Lance is straddling one of Keith’s Lego creations he’s had since he was a kid, waving around a Lego person’s hairpiece like it’s a cowboy hat. He freezes when Keith sees him, piece still above his head awkwardly.

They stare at each other, and Keith smothers a smirk. “It’s a USS Enterprise, not a horse,” he says.

Lance lowers his cowboy hat. “Then make me a Lego horse and I’ll do it properly.”

Keith deposits his backpack by the bed and hoists Lance with his thumb and forefinger under the tiny boy’s armpits, Lance squawking in indignation.

_“Quit man-handling me!”_

Keith resists the urge to drop him and instead pulls the lip of his coat pocket open so he can plop Lance into it. The tiny boy glares up at him, and just raises an eyebrow. _What you gonna do about it, Shorty?_

They take the bus to the local mall, and Lance entertains himself by reminding Keith that they were technically two people but Keith had only paid for one person, and tries to brainstorm other things they could get away with.

“How about all the food we could eat, Keith. Like, order only one meal and then we split it? How great would that be? Oh, man, think about all the _movies_ we could see, Keith.”

“I don’t watch movies.”

Lance clutches his chest. _“Heathen.”_

“Shut up, we’re here.”

Keith heads straight for the Toys R Us, their best bet for Lance. It's a small-ish store tucked into the corner next to the Belks and across the hall from a Auntie Em’s Pretzels. It takes him a minute to navigate the store, but Keith finally finds the action figures. He glances over the options and lets out an anguished groan. All of them are made of plastic, with no detachable clothes. Swords, guns, yep, but boys’ action figures seem less inclined to change clothes.

Lance pokes his head out of Keith’s pocket and folds his arms beneath his chin. “Anything good?”

Keith shakes his head. “Nothing here.”

“Dude, why are we in the boys’ section?”

“Because you’re a boy?”

Lance gives him a look. “Dude, the doll clothes are going to be in the _girls’_ section.”

Keith feels himself pale a little at that. “You’ve got to be kidding me. No, I’m _not_ going into the girls’ section.”

“Sorry to put a damper on your fragile masculinity, Keith,” Lance purrs. “But unless you want me walking around shirtless for the rest of my time as a two inch tall person, you’re gonna need to man up a little. And besides, just tell someone it’s your sister’s birthday or something.”

Keith breathes. Lance is right, and he can’t believe he didn’t think about the girls’ section. Keith never had any sisters or nieces to buy things for, so he never had to think about what kind of toys might even be in that section. He moves around to the next aisle, and sure enough, shelf upon shelf of dolls and ponies and singing babies. And pink. Lots and lots of pink.

The boy doll clothes were on the top shelf, probably because retailers didn’t think girls would buy boy clothes for their dolls anyway. There weren’t even a third of the amount of clothing options as there were for the girl dolls,. Most of them were sports uniforms or onesies for the baby dolls, which Keith guessed was a blessing and a curse. It meant Lance didn’t have as much to choose from and would make a quick decision, or it meant Lance would make him go to a different store.

Lance is trying to examine the options but they’re too far away. Keith reaches up and picks a random one off the shelf. He tries to hold it discreetly against his chest. “How about this one?”

Lance wrinkles his nose. “Too douche-y.”

Keith rolls his eyes and exchanges it for a different one. “This?”

“Not cute enough.”

“Oh my god, Lance. This one, then?”

“Too plain.”

This continues for another minute as Keith picks out random clothes for Lance to examine. Keith is getting anxious; already two mothers with their daughters have given him strange looks as they stroll through the aisle; Keith just gives them small smiles and says, “sister’s birthday,” which seems to satisfy them, but it doesn’t stop one twelve year old girl from murmuring “Creep,” as she strolls through the aisle.

Lance finally picks out a plain white T-shirt and black hooded jacket with dark wash jeans and sneakers, as well as some khakis and blue plaid button ups.

“Is this all?” Keith whispers, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Lance winks and gives him two thumbs up. “This guy is gonna be lookin’ fly!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You owe me twenty bucks.”

Lance waves his hand dismissively. “As soon as I grow back.”

Neither of them mention how long that might take.

Keith pays for the clothes, tells the clearly uninterested cashier that it’s his sister’s birthday just to make sure she didn’t think he was a creep, too, and books it out of the toy store. He speeds through the mall to the nearest restroom and locks the door. Luckily there is no one there, but Keith isn’t sure how long that will last.

He takes the first set of clothes they’d picked and rips into the packaging. Thankfully it’s not the kind that’s impossible to rip open without scissors, so it only takes Keith a few seconds to completely free the clothes from the package. He puts them on the toilet paper dispenser and lifts Lance from his pocket.

“There, now get changed.”

Lance holds up the clothes and examines them thoughtfully, now that he can actually hold them in his arms. He looks back up at Keith. “Take it back, I don’t like it.”

Keith can feel his face turning red from the mere thought of going back. “No.”

Lance bursts out laughing and shrugs on the white T-shirt. “Just playin’ with you, man. Beggars can’t be choosers in situations like this.”

“Pretty sure you’re the only person with this situation.”

“True.”

Keith turns so Lance can shimmy out of his old pants and into the new jeans. “Damn,” Keith hears, and he turns to find Lance squatting down, trying to fit his feet into the shoes, which appear to be too small. He pouts a little and slaps the soles against the dispenser sadly, but at least the rest of the clothes seem to fit.

Lance lurches to his feet and strikes a few poses to show off his new look. “What do you think?”

Keith chews his lip. “Great. You look great.”

Lance’s smile grows wider. “Hey, you know what would make this better?”

Keith raises an eyebrow, stuffing the loose packaging and Lance’s old pants into the plastic bag. “What?”

Lance grins like a kid in a candy shop. “Ice cream!”

And that’s how Keith finds himself sitting at a table in the food court, a cone of vanilla ice cream in hand held close enough to his pocket so Lance can stick his sample spoon into it. The cashier had given him a strange look when he had asked for it, and Keith was _not_ good at being stared at for so long.

“I cannot fucking believe this,” Keith says under his breath. He knows he looks ridiculous, but Lance will kick him in the rib if he moves the cone too far.

Speaking of, Lance wriggles happily, slurping the treat with happy little hums. “Never thought I’d eat ice cream again, either.”

“I envy your optimism,” Keith mutters, and Lance stops wiggling.

“Sorry,” he says, and dips his spoon into the cone again. “I’m just trying to see the bright side so I’m not crushed by overwhelming anxiety over being shrunk.”

Keith glances down at his tiny charge. “Two days,” he says. “Any changes? At all?”

Lance glances down at himself, pats his torso with a free hand. “I don’t feel any different.”

Keith sighs. “I see.”

He pulls out his phone and types furiously with one hand. Subsequently, his other hand drifts away from Lance, who has to stretch far out of his coat pocket to grab Keith’s hand and pull it back towards him so he can keep picking away at the ice cream. “What’re you doin?” he asks around a mouthful of spoon.

“Researching,” Keith says, and takes a bite out of the ice cream without hesitation. “You need to grow back as soon as possible.”

“What do you think it’ll take for me to grow back?” Lance asks.

Keith shrugs. “Haven’t a clue.”

“What if I need to drink some magic potion or something?” Lance muses aloud. “Sacrifice a goat? Oh!” He pounds a fist into the opposite palm. “What if this is a Sleeping Beauty story and I need a kiss from a prince to go back to normal?”

Keith pauses to give Lance a confused look. “Don’t you mean princess?”

“Uh, no. It’s always the prince that does the kissing.”

“Being kissed by a dude wouldn’t bother you?”

“No, why should it? Kissing is kissing.” Lance adopts a sly expression. “Why? Does it bother _you?”_

Keith blinks in surprise, then narrows his eyes. Right… Lance wasn’t there when Keith had finally admitted to himself that he is into dudes. He doesn’t feel comfortable just yet, letting Lance have access to that information, so he flips the topic back towards Lance. “You’re not a princess, Lance. Besides, who would your prince be?”

Lance quiets a little. “No one in particular,” he mumbles.

“Like Hunk? He’s your friend, right?”

Lance looks taken aback. “Hunk’s like my brother, dude.”

“See? You need to find a more realistic solution.”

“Like _anything_ about my situation is realistic, Keith!”

“Obviously it is if it’s happening!”

“Keith?”

Lance squeaks and slides back into Keith’s pocket.

Keith glances over his shoulder to see Nyma patting towards him, ponytail swaying with every step. She smiles but Keith can detect something lurking beneath her carefully manicured expression. “What are you doing here?”

Nyma giggles into the back of her hand like Keith had told the funniest joke in the world. “I can’t get ice cream like everyone else?”

Keith swallows. “Well, yeah, I guess.”

She gestures to the seat next to him. “May I?”

Keith gives a noncommittal noise, and Nyma takes the invitation. He can feel Lance poking him in the chest, and he resists the urge to poke back.

Nyma leans on her elbows, an obvious attempt at showing off her breasts. She tilts her head to one side flirtatiously, and Keith can’t laugh because it’s rude because it’s in times like these when he affirms that he is So Fucking GayTM. “Can I have a taste?” Nyma doesn’t even wait for Keith’s response before she’s opening her mouth to lick at Keith (and Lance’s) cone.

Lance kicks him hard this time, and the reflex makes his arm jerk, and soon Nyma finds herself with a face full of vanilla ice cream. She yelps, hands flying to her face to wipe the chill from her mouth, and Keith is trying very hard not to laugh. He passes her a napkin and she accepts it at least.

“Why aren’t you in class?”

Nyma raised an eyebrow at him. “I could ask you the same thing,” she says. “I saw you bolt out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang for lunch.”

Keith swallowed. “I had errands to run. I was gonna head back as soon as it was over.”

Nyma flicks her wrist to reveal a watch from under her bright yellow jacket sleeve. “Lunch period ended thirty minutes ago.” She rested her elbow on the table and leaned her cheek against her palm with a grin. “Better get moving, pretty boy.”

The nickname put a vile taste in Keith’s mouth, but he stood all the same and quickly vacated the space.

“Pretty boy,” he can hear Lance mutter to himself from his coat pocket.

Keith makes it back to school halfway through his second to last class of the day. He inclines his head apologetically to the teacher and plops into his seat with a sigh. At Lance’s insistence, he had gone straight from the mall and back to class, thus leaving Lance in his coat pocket.

Lance friends, Pidge and Hunk, corner him during break, crowding against his desk like Keith was some kind of criminal in the interrogation room.

“Where were you off to in such a hurry?” Pidge queries, her face right up close to Keith’s.

“Errands,” he says.

“In the middle of the school day?” Pidge narrows her eyes.

“It’s none of your business,” Keith says firmly, and cross his arms.

“Look man, we know you and Lance used to be super close,” Hunk says, putting a hand on Pidge’s shoulder to keep her from climbing on top of Keith’s desk. “But he isn’t telling us anything about the tryouts and it’s been, like, two days and he would never goes this long without updates. Is he telling you anything?”

Keith shakes his head. “No.”

Keith is a horrible liar, and he knows it. He once tried to frame Lance from stealing the last brownie when he was six by pointing at the other boy with said stolen brownie in the same hand.

“I haven’t talked to Lance since forever,” he continues, hopefully convincingly. “Besides, you guys are his friends. It’s you he should be talking to.”

Hunk and Pidge exchange worried glances.

Lance suddenly delivers a sharp jab to his gut. Keith visibly flinches, one hand flying to a spot just below his ribcage. Hunk and Pidge are looking at him weirdly.

“Are… you okay?” Hunk asks tentatively.

“Oh, oh yeah,” Keith manages, and tries to smile to diffuse the awkwardness but he’s pretty sure he only made it worse. “Just a, uh. A cramp. I must have worked out too hard this morning. Ha-ha, you know how that goes… I’m just gonna… work it off a little…”

Hunk seems to buy it. Pidge eyes him even closer, but thankfully doesn’t pursue it. Keith turns away and angles his body so that no one can see him pull his jacket back enough so that Lance can poke his head out.

“What was that for!?” Keith whisper-yells.

Lance pouts. “I can’t breathe in here.”

“ _You’re_ the one who said I didn’t have time to drop you off back home before class,” Keith retorts. “So just cut it out.”

“It’s uncomfortable,” Lance continues, and tries to stomp his feet for emphasis but the pocket doesn’t allow for much movement. So instead Lance kicks his feet up so his legs and arms are dangling over the mouth of the pocket like he’s lounging in a pool, and throws Keith a wink.

Keith closes his jacket with a snap, muffling Lance’s cry of surprise. Surprisingly, Keith doesn’t hear from his pocket-sized nuisance for the rest of the period. He takes advantage of class change to head to the bathroom, closing and locking the stall door. He opens his jacket and pulls at the lip of the pocket.

“Lance?”

Okay, yes, Keith is gay, so he can appreciate a good-looking face, even if that face belongs to his ex-childhood best friend and current freeloader. So, what Keith sees may just be the admittedly cutest thing he has ever seen. Lance has curled up at the bottom of the pocket, fast asleep. One leg is propped above his head, the other bent comfortably beneath him. His arms serve as makeshift pillows, the scene almost like he was swinging from a hammock on a warm spring day, mouth slightly parted as he breathed.

Keith gently closes his jacket, and tries not to make too much noise as he exits the bathroom. He sheds the jacket once he takes a seat for final period, draping it over the back of his seat so that his movements wouldn’t wake Lance. He curses himself for being so sentimental over the whole thing. Keith may dislike Lance, but he isn’t cruel. If Lance staying asleep means that he won’t disturb class, then Keith is fine with letting him nap.

The day finishes surprisingly quickly. Keith gathers his books and makes his way to his locker, exchanging the books for his backpack. He’s exhausted from the day’s shopping excursion, and cannot _wait_ to get home and take a short nap.

Shiro is typing away at his laptop when Keith gets home. His brother levels an accusatory gaze at him, and Keith can feel the lecture coming.

“Ms. Allura called,” Shiro begins. “She says you skipped lunch and half of third period.”

Keith does his best to look unintimidated, but Shiro can read him like an open book, and knows he doesn’t believe him when he says, “Just getting some fresh air.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “For two hours?”

Keith chews on his tongue. “Personal stuff.”

Shiro raises the other eyebrow. “Personal stuff,” he repeats. “Keith, I don't need to remind you that you need to do well in school, and that means no skipping classes.”

“I already know most of what they’re teaching anyway,” Keith mutters, not unheard by Shiro, who just sighs.

“Keith…”

“Yeah, I know,” Keith says. “Look, I’ll be in my room. Let me know when dinner is ready.”

Shiro knows better than to follow Keith into his room, but Keith is certain that this will not be the last he hears about this.

“I was just totally skewered by my brother for you,” Keith says aloud, and plops his backpack on the ground. “You’d better be grateful.”

Silence. Is Lance still asleep?

“You’re gonna be up all night if you – oh shit.”

Keith pats himself down, shoulder, chest, and waist. It takes him a minute of staring in a mirror to figure out what’s missing when it suddenly hits him like a freight train.

He’d left his jacket on the back of his chair, with Lance still in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's kudo'd and commented thus far. <3


End file.
